


50 First Playdates

by peppermint_mom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 50 First Dates, Alternate Universe - 싸우자 귀신아 | Let's Fight Ghost (TV), Angst, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Fluff and Angst, John Is Okay With It, John Knows, Kid!Derek, Kid!Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Short One Shot, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, stiles is sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 08:57:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10302962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermint_mom/pseuds/peppermint_mom
Summary: “Hey, kid.” John folded up the newspaper and set it on the table. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”Stiles looked up from cutting his plastic vegetables at his little kitchenette. “Mrs. Hale.”John got up from his seat at the kitchen table and went over to Stiles’ play area, kneeling in front of where his son was working. “Why is that?”“Because,” Stiles went back to stirring the pot after he dipped his pinkie into the imaginary liquid. “Every time we playHouse, Derek says I’d make a good, little wife.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a 50 First Dates crossover with 싸우자 귀신아 (or Let's Fight Ghost!) with a Sterek twist! Stiles is under ten and Derek is old enough to drive (fifteen-ish). I have wanted to write Sterek for a while now. Maybe one that was more fluffy than this one, but... *shrugs* I got the idea for this from a dream.
> 
> Hope you still like it... C:

“Hey, kid.” John folded up the newspaper and set it on the table. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Stiles looked up from cutting his plastic vegetables at his little kitchenette. “Mrs. Hale.”

John got up from his seat at the kitchen table and went over to Stiles’ play area, kneeling in front of where his son was working. “Why is that?”

He knew his son was quite fond of his babysitter. The teenager was very patient with Stiles and helped keep his son focus on one thing at a time. With how often Derek was over, John wasn’t surprised that his son liked him.

Stiles stirred a pot on the pink little stove with a pink plastic spoon. He pulled the spoon out and offered it to his dad for tasting. John hummed as he “sipped” the soup off of the spoon.

“Because,” Stiles went back to stirring the pot after he dipped his pinkie into the imaginary liquid. “Every time we play _House_ , Derek says I’d make a good, little wife.”

John looked at his son with an awed expression.

Stiles put his pinkie into his mouth and frowned, “It needs more salt.”

The doorbell rang and John got up to answer it.

However, Stiles beat him to it. He turned the dial on the stove to off and wiped his hands on his little pale-blue apron as he went. Disappearing into the entry, Stiles asked, “Who is it?”

John sighed as he sat on the couch. At least Derek had taught Stiles to ask who it was before he opened the door—progress, it was _definitely_ progress.

Derek mumbled something through the door and Stiles opened it. It was probably their “secret code.” Not that John knew about it, anyway. It was something Stiles came up with all on his own—with, maybe, some help from Stan Lee.

Derek entered the house with a suit jacket and a tie over a t-shirt and jeans. He smiled shyly at John as he met Stiles at the end of the entry, bending down to rub his cheek against Stiles’. Stiles stood on his toes and rubbed his cheek against Derek’s vigorously, humming.

Derek straightened, shed his suit jacket, and gave it to Stiles, who reached up on his tiptoes to hang the jacket on the coat rack. After missing twice, Stiles huffed and looked up at Derek. Derek smiled down at him before he picked Stiles up and held him as he hung up the jacket.

Setting Stiles back on the ground, Derek knelt, smiling, and said, “Where’s my greeting?”

Stiles smiled before he reached out for Derek’s hand, “...Welcome back.”

Derek took his hand and brushed his lips against Stiles’ pale knuckles. “I’m home.”

Stiles smiled again, pulling Derek over to the kitchenette. Derek stood and walked over, his hand held Stiles’ small, pale one. He sat down with his legs crossed as he lead Stiles to the stove with their joined hands. Stiles spun as he neared the stove, laughing.

John felt an ache in his chest at the joyous sound.

Stiles held out the pink spoon to Derek with a hand held under it. “Try it! I think I got it right this time.”

Derek smiled as he leaned in and “tasted” the soup. He hummed and licked his lips. “Yes, I believe you have, pet.”

Stiles preened and busied himself at the stove. He got out small pink bowls from the upper cabinet of the kitchenette and ladled the imaginary liquid into the three bowls. He put a blue spoon into the bowl he handed to Derek, who pat his head in thanks.

Stiles put a purple spoon in the bowl he gave to his father on the couch. John nodded in thanks, the words caught in his throat. Stiles walked back to the kitchenette and pulled out a pink spoon for himself. He sipped the “soup” off of the spoon and hummed.

After finishing the soup, Stiles collected the bowls and spoons to wash at his little sink. He drizzled the fake soap container over the dishes and started to wash. Derek patted his head and Stiles leaned into the touch.

“Sweetie,” Derek said, running his fingers through Stiles’ soft hair.

Stiles hummed at the motion and looked at Derek when he rubbed Stiles’ cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“I need to talk to your father, for a moment. We will be in the kitchen if you need anything, okay. Call if you need us.”

Stiles held Derek’s hand on his cheek and nodded.

Derek stood and motioned John to follow him. Once in the dining room, Derek looked him in the eye. “We may have found a way.”

John gaped at the statement.

“H–How? What needs to be done?”

Derek put a hand on John’s shoulder, “I spoke to Deaton. He said he found something in one of the old books that Lydia translated. It could work. We would just need time to–”

Stiles squealed from the other room. Derek and John moved  into the living room to find Stiles on the floor with the kitchenette overturned. Stiles smiled up at them and giggled.

“‘Orry. I didn’ mean to ruwin your adul’talk.” Stiles slurred.

Derek got the kitchenette off of Stiles and John checked his son for injuries.

“‘M fine, dad. Just a lit’tle spill. No need for the worri’d lines.” Stiles tried to smooth out the wrinkles in his forehead.

John hugged his son.

Derek picked Stiles up out of his father’s hold and carried him to his room, which was littered with stuffies. He set Stiles down on his bed and covered him with his blankets and sheets. He kissed Stiles forehead and made sure to do the same with Shadow and Loki, the wolf and fox plushies Derek won Stiles at the fair.

Stiles held Derek’s hand when the teen made a move to leave. “Talk to me, please.”

Derek sat back on the bed. “Okay.” He squeezed Stiles’ hand. “What do you want to make me tomorrow?”

Stiles hummed and closed his eyes, his image flickered. “I could try ‘o make hamburgers, ‘morrow. It s’ppose to be _hawt_ , ‘morrow.”

Derek smiled as Stiles yawned while talking with him. “That sounds delicious, pet.” He kissed the back of Stiles faded hand. “What color should I wear tomorrow?”

Stiles opened his eyes slowly and fingered the deep blue tie that Derek was wearing. “Da green one. It brin’s out your eyes.”

“Alright.” Derek kissed Stiles’ cheek one last time. “I’ll wear the green one, tomorrow. Sweet dreams, pet.”

Stiles smiled slightly as he faded away, his skin growing translucent. “‘Ight, Der.”

When Stiles faded away completely, Derek fixed the covers on the bed. He tucked Shadow and Loki in, fluffing the pillow and straightening the top blanket. He cleaned Stiles room, placing the toys in their respectable bins. He folded the clothes that were on the floor and hung up the items that weren’t wrinkled.

Making his way from the clean room, Derek closed the door and went down the stairs. John was in the real kitchen, holding a white mug with a pale blue one on the counter. John motioned to Derek that he could have the mug. The teen sipped the cool coffee—with a splash of sweet milk Derek determined after a taste.

John sat his mug on the counter, bracketing it with his hands. “Melissa called. He’s stable, but his fingers moved today.”

Derek hummed into his mug. “He’s remembering.” He messed with his tie, looking at the other man. “He told me to wear the green one because ‘it brings out my eyes.’”

John smiled sadly. “Yeah, it seems that way.”

Derek finished his coffee, “One day at a time. That’s all we can think about, right now.” He went to the sink and rinsed his mug before he placed it on the drying rack. He used the towel to clean around the basin of the sink.

John turned to the sink, “His answer changed, today.”

Derek looked over his shoulder and raised a brow. “He doesn’t want to be Batman anymore?”

John sighed, his eye watering, “No. Apparently, he wants to be ‘Mrs. Hale’ because you told him, he would be a ‘good, little wife.’”

Derek grasped the counter and turned to face the other man. “R–Really? He remembered that. But that was…”

John nodded, “I know. A long time ago.”

Derek finished at the sink and went to the entry to get his suit jacket. Slipping it over his shoulders, he asked, “Do you need any help with the living room?”

John dumped the rest of his drink down the sink and made his way to Derek. “No, son. That won't be necessary.”

Derek nodded. “I’ll pick up something for Stiles tomorrow. Maybe, if he is feeling up to it, we could go to the park. Stiles always liked the park.”

John nodded, “Same time tomorrow?”

Derek nodded as he made his way out of the door, “Always, Sheriff.”

After the door closed, John went to the living room and cleaned up the little kitchenette. He moved all of the food back into the little fridge on the kitchenette. He put the pots and pans in the lower cabinets, disinfecting the plastic counter top.

He moved into the hallway where he passed the framed article. John stopped and gently caressed his wife’s picture of her obituary. “I wish you were here to help him…”

Throwing the wet wipes into his trash can, John climbed into his bed as he set his alarm for six.

 

/line break\

 

John woke at six. He got out of bed, showered, and got dressed. As he made his way down the kitchen, he checked in Stiles’ room. He was there, but still translucent. Not quite back yet.

John continues to the kitchen where he made chocolate chip pancakes in smiley face patterns. He made fresh orange juice and cut up a banana into slices. He filled Stiles’ sippy cup with milk and poured himself a glass of orange juice.

At twenty after, John set the island with plates and cutlery. Stiles’ spot was in the middle, right in front of a stack of pancakes. He smiled as he placed Stiles’ Wolverine plate and matching cutlery at his place.

After making sure the stove was off and the milk and orange juice were back in the fridge, John made his way up the stairs and into Stiles’ room. Stiles was more solid, this time. His little chest rows and fell from under the blankets, making it seem as though he was really there.

John sat on the bed beside his son, gently waking him. When Stiles blinked up at him, John said, “Hey, buddy. I have a day off. What do you want to do today?”

Stiles smiled brightly and exclaimed, “Make soup!”

John smiled down at his son.

It was a vicious cycle.

**Author's Note:**

> You should try listening to _Human_ by: Christina Perri while reading. I listened to it while I wrote this. It may show.


End file.
